Guilt in the Cotswolds (9 page)

‘Except for the damned dogs,’ she said glumly.

‘Hand them over to the police,’ he advised. ‘There’ll be a procedure.’

‘Yes – they’ll be locked up in kennels somewhere and then destroyed. I can’t let that happen. You know what I’m like.’

‘It’s a mental illness,’ he told her. ‘Dogophilia. You need therapy.’

‘Probably.’ She glanced down at her spaniel, contentedly curled on the blanket that they’d brought with them for her comfort. The dog always spent the
night on whatever bed Thea was in – except when Drew usurped her place. Tonight would be one of those rare instances. There was likely to be trouble as a result. ‘Where are they going to sleep?’ she wondered. The house was not equipped for dogs in any way. ‘Millie didn’t bring them any bedding.’

‘In your car?’

‘No way. If they’re banned from Chedworth, somebody might see them and take unilateral action.’
Somebody
meaning Norah Cookham, she realised. ‘I suppose there are plenty of blankets and things upstairs. I can make them a bed in the living room.’

‘What if they widdle in there?’

‘Let them. But I doubt if there’s much risk. They’re terribly well behaved, poor things.’

‘And Hepzibah?’ he asked warily.

‘I thought she could come up with us. She’s a lovely bedfellow.’ It was at least worth a try, she calculated. After all, when Drew married her, he’d have to take on her dog as well, just as Thea would have to incorporate his children.

‘I don’t approve of dogs on beds,’ he said mildly, and not for the first time.

‘She’ll whine if we shut her out. I can probably persuade her to stay on the floor.’

Drew sighed. ‘Love me, love my dog,’ he muttered.

‘Yes. What’s wrong with that? She’s been a lifesaver these past years. I’m not going to cast her off now – not for you or anybody.’

‘I’m not asking you to. I get it. You’re a package, like me and my kids. But I don’t intend to have Timmy or Stephanie in bed with us all night, either. There are limits.’

She felt wrong-footed. As always, the inescapable fact of Drew’s decency and niceness made her feel guilty. She was not really a nice person – certainly not compared to him. She did not deserve him. She might not be good for him. And yet, they did seem to get along so very well. She sighed, too. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘As usual.’

After a short interval, he changed the subject. ‘I really think I must go and see Mrs Wilshire,’ he said. ‘I feel so sorry for her.’

Thea frowned. ‘Won’t that seem a bit … ghoulish? She’ll associate you with funerals, remember. She’ll think you want to do Richard’s, and are chasing the business.’

He went pale, his jaw slack. ‘Good God, so she will. It never even crossed my mind. Not once.’

‘Sorry.’ Again she felt guilty. ‘My mind works in nasty ways.’

‘No, it doesn’t. It’s the obvious sensible conclusion to draw. I was just too thick to realise. But I really do want to see her. Maybe if you came with me, that would put a different light on it?’

‘And maybe she really would like you to do the funeral. Somebody has to, after all.’

He nodded slowly. ‘And I understand better than
most how terrible it’ll be for her. She won’t have to explain that she’d assumed that Richard would be eulogising her, at some point not too far off. Now all that’s turned to ashes. All her plans about money and property are thrown into chaos. Another undertaker would struggle to grasp all that side of it.’

‘How will we have time, though?’ She quailed at the lengthening list of obligations for the coming day.

‘Tricky, but not impossible. Cirencester first, then Broad Campden, for a couple of hours, then straight up to Stratford in the afternoon. We don’t have to stay long. Then I can bring you back here, grab a cup of tea and be off on schedule.’

She remembered that undertakers – especially the big ones – routinely constructed complex timetables, with ten funerals a day. Drew had worked for one like that before setting up on his own. He was accustomed to calculating distances and timings and fitting everything in. Where most people flapped and dithered over one engagement, he calmly managed his time and motion with impressive efficiency, even when it did not involve conducting a funeral. ‘I’ll be guided by you,’ she said, biting back yet another reminder about the dogs.

They washed up, Drew complaining how cold the kitchen was. Thea remembered a house-sit in the well-named Cold Aston in a property that had stood empty for a while and had very little heating. She had been with Detective Superintendent Phil Hollis at the time; the parallels that came to mind with the current
situation were uncomfortable. It made her feel almost promiscuous. Having been faithfully married for nearly twenty years, it was still strange to find herself with somebody other than Carl. Drew very probably felt the same, she supposed.

They sank into the big soft bed, rolling together for a friendly cuddle. Hepzie obediently compromised by settling onto a warm rug on the floor close to Thea’s side. ‘Poor Mrs Wilshire,’ sighed Drew. ‘I can’t stop thinking about her.’

Downstairs Betsy and Chummy were whining restlessly, bewildered and anxious about the whereabouts of their familiar people. ‘We’ll never get to sleep,’ said Thea. But ten minutes later they were both dead to the world.

The police interview was entirely different from what they’d expected. There was no atmosphere of tension or urgency that Thea had come to associate with a murder investigation. ‘Oh, yes,’ said the man on the desk when they introduced themselves. ‘Thank you for coming. Just a few loose ends the DI wanted to tie up. Take a seat, and I’ll tell him you’re here.’

Drew and Thea exchanged a surprised look. She opened her mouth to say, ‘You caught the killer, then?’ but closed it again. Something had changed dramatically since the previous afternoon and it was probably sensible to stay quiet until enlightenment dawned.

‘Loose ends?’ Drew muttered, when they were left alone.

She widened her eyes and said nothing.

It was five minutes before the familiar figure of DI Jeremy Higgins emerged from a door behind the desk. ‘Mrs Osborne,’ he smiled. ‘And Mr …’ He shook his head apologetically.

‘Slocombe,’ said Drew.

‘Right. Well, come through for a minute. I won’t keep you long. Sorry we called you in at all, really. Not necessary, as it turned out.’

They trooped through to a small room, where they sat round a table and Higgins smiled again. ‘The good news – if we can call it that – is that there was no foul play associated with the death of Mr Wilshire. We’re satisfied that he took his own life.’

The shock was considerable. Thea rocked back, her mind whirling. Had she and Drew been such complete fools as to jump so wrongly to the idea that it had been murder? Why had they done that? Were they so hardened by repeated involvement in deliberate killing that they could see nothing else, whenever someone died? She frowned – no way could that be true of Drew, the undertaker. ‘Oh,’ she said.

‘That surprises you?’

‘It hadn’t occurred to me,’ she admitted. ‘And now I feel really stupid. You think he jumped off the ledge in the barn?’

‘It’s consistent with his injuries. And there’s no sign of a struggle or anyone else being present.’

‘How did he get up there?’ Drew asked. ‘We didn’t see a ladder.’

‘There was one at the back of the barn, up against an opening onto that higher floor.’

‘Have you found a suicide note?’ asked Thea.

Higgins gave her a look of reproach from under his
brows. His big square head tipped forward. She had seen the same look more than once. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘You’re not at liberty to tell us that sort of thing.’

‘The man on the desk said there were some loose ends,’ Drew prompted.

‘Not exactly. But we are somewhat puzzled as to how you came to find him. That is – how it came to be you two.’

‘It was really his dogs. We stopped the car to have a better look at the barn, and they went mad.’

‘Why would you want a better look?’

‘It’s such an unusual sight these days – a barn still in its original state, and not converted to a big house. And there was just something intriguing about it. We like that sort of thing.’

‘And why did you have his dogs?’

Thea answered with deliberate patience. ‘Because he went missing on Friday, and his daughter couldn’t have them.’ She paused, trying to assemble her thoughts. ‘You know – it really can’t be suicide. Where’s his car? Where was he all day Friday? Those aren’t just loose ends, are they? They’re great big questions that ought to be answered.’

‘They will be answered,’ said Higgins, through a tight jaw. ‘Now please tell me why you’re in Chedworth.’

‘I was employed by Richard Wilshire to make an inventory of the contents of his mother’s house. His daughter Millie came to see me a number of times on Friday and yesterday, more worried each time about
her father. His dogs needed somebody to look after them, so I guess it made sense to her to dump them on me. I need to know, actually, what I ought to do with them now.’

‘Hand them back to Miss Wilshire,’ he said, as if this were obvious. ‘They’re her responsibility.’

Again, Thea wondered at her own dim-wittedness. Much that Higgins evidently thought perfectly clear had never even occurred to her. Although, she had in fact thought about and then dismissed Millie as a viable custodian of two sheepdogs. She worked away; she was young and inconsiderate. She really didn’t qualify as a long-term owner.

Drew was very quiet, his hands folded in his lap, and his gaze thoughtfully directed onto them. ‘Drew?’ said Thea.

‘Consistent with his injuries,’ he said slowly. ‘Broken neck, cracked skull. Perhaps other fractures. How high was that platform? Twenty feet or so?’

‘Over thirty, sir, as it happens.’

‘But a soft floor. Bare earth, with no stones or concrete slabs or anything to land on. He couldn’t be sure it would kill him.’

‘By that reasoning, a murderer couldn’t be sure, either. That’s if you’re suggesting he was taken up there by force and then pushed off the edge.’

‘You’re certain he died there, are you? He wasn’t dumped there post-mortem and arranged to look as if he’d fallen?’

Higgins sucked his lower lip and sighed. ‘He was not, sir. There are
no
suspicious indicators of any sort.’

Thea interrupted. ‘I think there are a lot, actually. How do you explain his movements since Thursday evening?’

Higgins turned his head in a sideways tilt. ‘Pardon?’

She swallowed. ‘From what Millie said, I think I might have been the last person to see him alive. Unless you’ve found someone else, of course,’ she added hopefully.

Higgins spoke with unusual formality. ‘We are acting on the assumption that the man took his own life. Although it helps the family to have a picture of the final hours, it is not incumbent upon the police force to investigate them. As I see it, the man found a quiet spot in which to consider his situation. Perhaps it took him all day Friday to summon the courage to do what he did. His car is most likely somewhere close by and will be reported at any moment.’

‘I suppose that could make sense,’ said Drew, with no sign of apology for his earlier argumentativeness. As one professional to another, he habitually treated the police with a distinct lack of deference. An unfortunate experience the year before, in which he found himself suspected of killing a man, had done nothing to increase his respect. They had a job to do, and they mostly did it with fair efficiency – but he saw no reason to abase himself before them. Thea’s own approach was very much the same. She had a daughter and brother-in-law
in the police force; she knew they were all too human.

‘But he wouldn’t do that to his mother,’ Drew went on. ‘There is no way he would inflict such suffering on her.’

The look on Higgins’s face implied that he recognised this sentiment, but was not swayed by it. He said nothing.

Drew persisted. ‘I’ve met her twice, both times with her son. They were very close. It is simply unthinkable that he would put his own unhappiness before a wish to protect her.’

‘On the other hand,’ Thea interrupted, ‘he did feel very guilty about putting her into a home. It’s possible he found that unbearable.’ She was tempted to add that she had detected something less than pure affection in the man towards his mother, but held it back. She had only spoken to him for a few minutes, after all.

Both men gave her words due consideration. ‘Betrayal of her trust, letting himself down in his own eyes,’ said Higgins. ‘That sort of thing.’

Higgins wanted it to be suicide, Thea realised. While nothing to celebrate, it did make the police work easier, by a long way. Suicide was unpleasant, but murder was very much worse. She saw no reason to argue about it, other than a strong sense that something wasn’t right.

‘He wouldn’t do that to his mother,’ Drew repeated, with even more certainty. ‘If he felt as guilty as that, he could have done something about it. And everybody keeps ignoring the fact that Mrs Wilshire
likes
the
home. It was her own choice to go there. He had no
reason
to feel guilty about it.’

‘And yet he told me he did,’ said Thea impatiently.

‘That was more to do with her possessions and the house. All the ramifications, and his decision to have you do it, instead of tackling it himself – he felt bad about that part of it.’

Higgins leant forward. ‘It
was
suicide,’ he said. ‘There is no scrap of evidence to suggest anything else. Once we’ve got the PM report to confirm it, the case will be closed.’

Drew absorbed this without speaking. Thea was reminded of her younger sister, Jocelyn, when being reprimanded by their father. She would clamp her lips together and look at a point on a distant wall, making it clear that while she heard the words, she found the message unacceptable. Drew was doing much the same thing.

‘Well, then. Is that all you need from us?’ she asked, thinking it could have easily been managed over the phone, instead of wasting over an hour of their time. Then she remembered it was a Sunday, and Higgins might well be conscious of his own family life running along without him. He had mentioned a daughter, some time ago, and she suspected there were other offspring. He had the look of a family man.

‘I think so,’ he said, with a little frown. ‘Just tying up the loose ends.’

‘Yes, you said that before,’ Drew snapped. ‘Loose
ends that seem to me to point every bit as logically to unlawful killing as they do to suicide.’

‘All right, Mr Slocombe,’ said Higgins heavily. ‘I think that’s enough. We’re grateful to you for your assistance. It was helpful to have the man’s name provided so quickly.’ He turned to Thea. ‘Please don’t worry. The whole picture will become perfectly clear in time.’ He gave a humourless smile. ‘I would think you’d be glad not to be involved in yet another murder.’

The reproach was impossible to miss, and impossible to refute. Guilt flooded through her at the implied criticism. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said meekly. ‘I’m sure you’re right. But it isn’t easy to just brush it all away. For a start, Richard’s dogs are still with us. His daughter has made no attempt to contact us about them. And it’s complicated because the woman across the road thinks they’re the spawn of the devil.’

Higgins blinked. ‘Pardon?’ he said.

‘Oh, it’s nothing important. Mrs Wilshire’s neighbour, lives opposite. Norah Cookham, she’s called. She hates the dogs. Says there’s an injunction out against them being in Chedworth. Is that even possible?’

Higgins pulled a laptop towards him and activated it. ‘Cookham – is that what you said?’

Thea nodded.

‘Let’s see. Um … Chedworth. Attack on a cat. Made a strong complaint. But nothing as extreme as an injunction. Just a warning. She’s exaggerating. People do that a lot. In fact she was close to getting into trouble
herself, given all the disturbance she caused. It was only a cat, after all.’ He gave Thea a meaningful look.

‘Does that mean I can take the dogs for a run in the woods?’

‘If you can be sure they’re under control. In reality, of course, we all know that once a dog is off its lead, it is very much
not
under control. Even the best behaved ones will run off given enough incentive.’

Thea suspected that he knew the story of an incident she had brought about in Lower Slaughter. She was forced to agree that he was right, when she thought back over that awful time. ‘So what’s to become of them? I want to leave here later today.’

‘I told you. Return them to Miss Wilshire,’ Higgins repeated. ‘What’s the problem?’

Drew patted her arm none too gently. ‘We decided that already,’ he said. ‘Stop obsessing about damn dogs, will you?’

He was angry. Drew Slocombe, the mildest of men, was so angry he used the word
damn
to her, his beloved. It hadn’t ever happened before. She took a deep breath, before saying, ‘She told me she wouldn’t be there, though. That’s why I’ve got them in the first place.’

‘I would imagine her plans have changed somewhat since then,’ Higgins suggested. ‘In fact, I
know
they have. She might even be expecting you to return the dogs. She could be glad to see them.’

‘Oh. Am I obsessing about them?’ she wondered aloud. ‘I suppose I am, a bit.’

‘It’s what you do,’ said Higgins, adding hastily, ‘I mean, the house-sitting. You’re accustomed to being in charge of people’s animals. You’re just following the usual pattern.’

Drew had slumped unhappily in the chair, saying nothing.

Thea stood up. ‘Come on, then.’

He obeyed with an effort. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked him.

Most men would have snapped,
Nothing
. But he was not most men. ‘I don’t believe it was suicide,’ he said. ‘You haven’t listened to me, either of you. I hate to think that he’ll go down in history as a man who killed himself, when I’m sure he did no such thing.’

Higgins got up and walked around the plain table until he could put a hand on Drew’s shoulder. ‘No evidence, though. Not a whisker of evidence. It’s often like this. Nobody can believe it. Even when there’s a note trying to explain, there’s always a daughter or brother or someone who refuses to accept it.’

Drew raised a hand to prevent further assurances. ‘I know all that. And you’ll say I wasn’t close enough to Richard Wilshire to understand what was going on inside. That’s true. But the whole picture is wrong. It doesn’t
solve
anything, do you see? He didn’t need to escape from anything now. He’d done the hard stuff, already.’

‘Guilt,’ said Thea. ‘He must have been escaping from his own feelings of guilt.’

Higgins shook his head as if he had said all there was to be said.

‘We should go,’ Thea urged. ‘Lots to do, remember.’

‘Yes, I’m coming.’ Drew was still just as angry, but not with her, she realised. The whole situation had got under his skin for reasons that were most probably connected with his line of work or a past experience she knew nothing about. Or simply because he was acutely aware of the grief and despair that must be gripping Richard Wilshire’s mother since hearing her son was dead.

They left Cirencester with no more delay, Thea driving unthinkingly northwards. They were going to collect the dogs and take them to Stratford, where they would be returned to Millie Wilshire. Then she and Drew would go to the residential home and see Millie’s grandmother. Thea’s own dog would be taken along, because it would be unkind to leave her alone in the Chedworth house.